Handfasting
by Lingering Lilies
Summary: "Clarke notices a change in Lexa. She's hardening at the edges, snapping at her guards and ambassadors at the slightest provocation. The cool, contemplative girl she loves seems frayed at the ends. She doesn't know why or what to make of it until Lincoln and Octavia's wedding reveals the strain peace puts on her love." Angst, fluff, talk of marriage, happy ending.
Clarke notices a change in Lexa. She's hardening at the edges, snapping at her guards and ambassadors at the slightest provocation. The cool, contemplative girl she loves seems frayed at the ends.

Clarke doesn't know what to make of it.

They're fine, for the most part. They share their meals and bed as they have for the past two years. Clarke works with local healers while Lexa travels to inspect crops, to promote the peace she fought so hard for, to address her people. Her chin is held high, her expression as stoic as ever.

The tension is subtle at first. Cracking of knuckles, clenching of jaw, eyebrows slightly knit. Clarke thinks it might be the result of eight years of constant demand on Lexa; now that peace has prevailed and held for a year and half, the strain is catching up. Clarke expects Lexa to collapse from built-up exhaustion one day. She prepares for it.

But it doesn't come. The tension keeps building.

Clarke makes an offhanded, teasing comment as they enter their room after dinner one night. Lexa spins around, almost shoving her against the wall. Lexa's eyes and nose flare for a moment before she darts forward, kissing Clarke with a force Clarke hasn't felt right out of the gates with Lexa before. Lexa's hands are rough on her waist, hand sliding up to grasp Clarke's breast possessively. It almost frightens her. But Lexa pulls back, confusion flickering over her face when she realizes what she's done, and quickly stalks away to remove her coat and weapons. Stripping down to her underwear, she climbs in their bed without looking over her shoulder. Clarke follows, moving slowly and cautiously as she removes her gown and slides down the pillows.

Lexa stares at the ceiling, sullen for a minute before turning onto her side away from Clarke.

Clarke knows Lexa needs relief of some sort. She offers the most obvious one.

"Do you want to?" Clarke asks.

It's silent for a long moment.

"Okay."

It isn't warm or apologetic, but it's softer than her kiss had been.

Clarke swallows. "Come here."

Lexa turns, looking at Clarke with a trace a suspicion before leaning over her.

She isn't rough, but she isn't gentle either. She keeps her eyes closed the entire time.

* * *

It isn't just Clarke she grows harsher with. Clarke notices the nightbloods are more skittish around Lexa than in years past. Lexa raises her voice in anger quite a few times when Clarke comes to watch them train in the grove. It isn't motivating or challenging; it's mean and belittling. Lexa's jabs as they spar are harsh and blunt, and Clarke actually fears Lexa might hurt one of them. When Clarke asks about it later that night, Lexa shrugs it off.

"Peace has made them complacent," Lexa grumbles. "They've lost focus."

"Can you blame them?" Clarke says, trying to be gentle. "It could be decades before one of them is chosen to ascend."

Lexa gives her a harsh glare. "None of them is foolish enough to think that way."

Before Clarke can object, Lexa sweeps out of the room, muttering something about travel details for the following day.

* * *

Lexa spars with her warriors more frequently than before too. There's a crackling and seething about her that concerns Clarke. When she undresses at night, Clarke sees black and gray bruises where Lexa took hits.

Still, Clarke fears Lexa's opponents got the worse of the match.

She doesn't say anything, smoothing whatever salves and compresses she has handy where Lexa will let her.

They make quiet love under the furs most nights. Lexa is withdrawn and commanding with her body. Clarke bends to allow it. It isn't bad, but she wonders what caused the change.

* * *

There's a sudden swell of pregnant women in Polis. Everyone notices. There are more infants than Clarke has ever seen, seeming to multiply overnight. Tiny, shrill wails and weighted slings across chests become as common as battlecries and swords once were. The healers Clarke works with hone their midwifery skills, going on more childbirth calls than ever before.

Clarke's first time attending a birth is both terrifying and miraculous. She helps the woman stand on the bricks, rubbing her back as the grounder women around her sing and chant, murmuring strength into their sister as she prepares the bring life into the newly peaceful world.

Clarke holds the baby as her teacher uses the reeds to suck mucus out of the baby's nostrils before handing the baby to its mother. She's never seen something so small and vulnerable.

Once the baby is cleaned and the mother is resting softly on a blanket, Clarke is in awe. She has never seen life brought forth before. She was wholly unprepared for how it changes the way she thinks about life on earth.

She tells Lexa about it that night over dinner.

"People believe in the longevity of your vision, Heda," she says, beaming. "They're building lives around things other than survival and war."

Lexa purses her lips and doesn't say anything.

* * *

Octavia tells Clarke she and Lincoln are getting married. Clarke helps with the preparations, puzzled and fascinated by the ceremony Octavia is planning. It seems lavish. They've picked a spot in the forest and need to move fifty chairs so guests can sit while they exchange vows, along with some tables and banners. Some of the little grounder girls who clung to Octavia like burrs when she moved to Polis plan to scout for wildflowers that morning, placing them in bouquets around the clearing and in Octavia's hair. Octavia has even commissioned a special dress for the occasion, which seems silly to Clarke. Making a dress just for one day is frivolous and wasteful, but she doesn't comment. Food and wine have been arranged for afterwards, and music for dancing. Compared to the civil ceremonies on the Ark, Clarke's not sure what to make of the grand celebration of a grounder wedding.

Grounders have a different take on marriage vows than Clarke is used to. They consider vows to be a spiritual bond, a marrying of souls, a "fastening of hands" as Octavia tries to explain to her. Octavia and Lincoln create a ceremony that honors both their traditions; the legal bindings of Skaikru marriage with the spiritual and ritual significance of Trikru tradition. Octavia asks Clarke to stand beside her with Raven and Indra and Bellamy as she and Lincoln say their vows. She says it is a grounder tradition to show there is support for the union.

Clarke relays the details to Lexa as they ride to inspect local crops one drizzling afternoon. Lexa listens, cold, and does little more than grunt in response. Clarke is so focused on the excitement of it, she doesn't notice.

* * *

The wedding day arrives, and Clarke scarcely sees Lexa for more than a few minutes as she takes her dress out of the armoire that morning to help Octavia prepare. She doesn't see Lexa again until the ceremony.

Clarke wears her favorite blue dress and waits for instructions. Before the ceremony, she and Octavia and Raven huddle behind a tree, shivering as the fog burns off. Octavia says Lincoln will stand before everyone and they'll process down an aisle between the guests to meet him. Clarke doesn't question it. She takes a bouquet of wildflowers from one of Octavia's students and shrugs at Raven.

Clarke walks ahead of Octavia through the forest toward the clearing, where lengths of fabric have been hung from tree branches, creating a canopy under which Lincoln and Octavia will wed. She sees Lexa's horse tied to a tree a short distance away. Attached to the horse is Lexa's bow and and quiver. She's relieved Lexa made it on time; Lexa would never be so rude as to intentionally miss a social event, but if a meeting had run long, she wouldn't have thought twice about not attending.

Clarke sees Lexa standing at the edge of the clearing, brow furrowed. She isn't seated on any of the chairs, nor is she dressed in formal regalia. At least she's taken off her pauldron. Clarke thinks perhaps she's hovering on the edge of the clearing out of respect for Lincoln and Octavia; Lexa knows her presence in a crowd draws attention. Clarke gives her an adoring smile, gripping her bouquet a little tighter. Lexa meets her gaze but doesn't smile.

The ceremony is curious and beautiful. Octavia hasn't looked so young and girlish since the dropship first landed. She has a few scars, and her arms are banded with tattoos, but she is radiant and happy as she holds Lincoln's hands. Lincoln has never looked more regal than he does today. They look nowhere but at each other, speaking softly as the officiate guides them through their vows in both their languages. As they speak, the officiate ties a silken cloth around their clasped hands, speaking an incantation over them. This is the handfasting Octavia spoke of, a sacred ritual amongst grounders.

When the ceremony is over, every claps and cheers. Music begins to play and the chairs are cleared away. Lexa remains on the skirts of the merriment as people begin to dance. A few people approach her to show respect, but for the most part she watches silently. Once most people have begun to dance, Clarke goes to her, raising an eyebrow playfully, as though daring her to refuse a dance.

Lexa does refuse though, with a subtle shake of her head. Clarke expects it; Heda cannot indulge in such frivolity. Instead, Clarke brings her wine and a small plate of food, pieces of bread and fruit and cheese. They hover at the edge of the clearing, watching as they eat. Lexa comments politely; the ceremony was lovely, and she wishes Lincoln and Octavia every happiness. She remains aloof, and after ten minutes Clarke feels torn between staying beside her beloved and joining the festivities. The music is growing more lively. Even her mother and Kane are dancing now.

It's amazing what peace has done for the people Clarke loves.

"Go," Lexa says softly, giving a nod of blessing. "Enjoy the festivities."

"What will you do?" Clarke asks.

"I'll stay for a bit longer," Lexa says, lifting her chin as she observes the guests. "It would be rude to leave so soon."

Clarke is torn, but knows she might not get to dance with her friends for a long time. She puts her hand on Lexa's arm in thanks, then walks into the clearing, feet already light as she lets the music carry her.

Things blur together, both from the wine and the good company. She isn't drunk, just happy and tired from exertion. The music fades and people shuffle into clusters, conversing and filling the space the music left. Clarke starts talking with Bellamy's girlfriend, Ady, about the birth she attended recently. Ady is curious about medicine and listens in rapt attention.

Clarke hears her name being called by a few voices in the crowd, including Octavia's. She looks up, confused, then feels herself being shuffled into another cluster. Octavia is standing a few yards before them, holding her bouquet of wildflowers. She gives Clarke a sneaky smile before turning in a full circle, then chucking the bouquet straight at Clarke's chest.

Clarke barely catches it, startled by the unexpected pelting of petals. Around her she hears the tittering of laughter and the clucking of tongues. A few amused glances are shared between grounders. Clarke doesn't know what to make of it. She hears Lexa's name and title whispered too, and looks about, wondering if she left already.

Lexa is still in her spot at the edge of the clearing, but when Clarke sees her, she's fuming. It's not obvious to anyone else, but Clarke can see the subtle flaring of her nostrils, the clench of her fist, the tightening of her jaw. She stays rooted to the spot until the music starts up again and people seem to have forgotten about whatever strange custom Octavia just carried out. Lexa turns and stalks away from the clearing, back hunched.

Clarke knows something is wrong. This is part of the greater Wrong that's been festering in Lexa for weeks. She doesn't want to desert her friends, but she has to go to her. She has to find out what is so brittle and angry inside her love.

Clarke trots after her, holding the bouquet by her side, gathering her dress in her other hand so she doesn't trip over it. She leaves the clearing just in time to see Lexa swinging her leg over her horse, face set in a hard scowl as she grips the reins, snapping them. Clarke thinks she's headed back to Polis, but Lexa takes off in another direction, heading toward the canyon.

Clarke hurries over to one of the other horses tied nearby. It belongs to one of Lexa's advisors, a guest of Lincoln and Octavia's. Clarke hopes he won't mind if she borrows it.

Clutching the bouquet and the reins, she races after Lexa, losing her a few times, but charging on. By the time she finally catches up, Lexa is standing in archer's pose, letting fly arrow after arrow from her quiver, missing the hollow tree stump at the edge of the canyon again and again. An arrow ricochets off the edge, its flight crimped as it twists down into the abyss.

It's alarming to see Lexa so out of form, so hasty and aggressive. She is always methodical and calculated with her weapons. Her arrows fly in curved, springing arcs, loosing themselves from a poorly-strung bow.

Clarke watches, frozen atop her horse. She doesn't know what to make if this.

When Lexa runs out of arrows, she yanks her dagger from her belt and hurls it toward the tree stump. It sticks right in the center with a muted _thwack_ , blade lodged an inch into the dry bark.

Lexa turns, seething, to look at Clarke.

Clarke dismounts, rushing to Lexa's side in concern. The bouquet is half crushed in her hand as she lifts her arms.

"Lexa, what's wrong?" Clarke says softly.

"Get that thing out of my face," Lexa snaps, batting at the bouquet as she turns and stalks toward a boulder.

Clarke looks at the bouquet in confusion, then tosses it in the direction of the stump Lexa was trying to hit.

"What's going on?" Clarke asks, following after Lexa.

"Octavia had no right to embarrass me like that," Lexa snarls.

Clarke's brow crinkles in confusion and dismay that Lexa and Octavia _still_ haven't fully made peace with each other.

Lexa plops herself down on the boulder, sullen.

"How did she embarrass you?" Clarke asks, moving to sit a few feet away.

Lexa glares at her, then softens. She turns to look out over the canyon. Her voice is gentler when she speaks, but Clarke can hear the effort behind its smoothing. She keeps her chin stiff, eyes fixed on the other side of the canyon.

"It is grounder superstition that whoever catches the bride's bouquet will be the next to wed."

Clarke understands now.

"And you think she threw it at me… to embarrass you?"

Lexa gives a steady, cold nod.

"I don't think she meant…" Clarke trails off, realizing she can't be sure Octavia didn't mean to have a little fun at Lexa's expense. "I'm sorry you were embarrassed. I didn't know what the bouquet meant. I wouldn't have gone to catch it if I thought it would upset you."

Lexa doesn't respond, gaze fixed somewhere far away.

Clarke thinks about the distance that's been growing between them, the tension building in Lexa's body. For all the gentleness and care she's given Lexa, it doesn't seem to be dissolving. If anything, she seems to make Lexa angrier. For the first time, she wonders if _she's_ the reason for that tension, if Lexa would be happier to spend her nights alone.

Now that peace has been established and maintained, perhaps they are growing apart. Perhaps they can only be united in its pursuit. The thought crushes her like petals beneath Lexa's boot.

She has to know.

"Do you not want to marry me?"

Lexa stares ahead, stony. "I wouldn't wish the life of a widow on you."

Clarke is taken aback. She thought Lexa had moved away from constant rumination over her own death. "That– that's not what I asked."

It's quiet for a long moment as Clarke feels sad tension strung between them. She reaches her hand toward Lexa, setting it down on the rock a few inches away. She knows Lexa would flinch if she actually touched her.

"I think– if you _did_ die, people would consider me a widow anyway."

Lexa blinks slowly, a sign of admission. Her gaze shifts down a few inches. She softens.

People know what Clarke means to her.

Lexa swallows. "I don't think people would take kindly to their commander having a celebration of that sort," she says, tipping her head in the direction of the clearing.

Clarke understands. Eighteen months of peace is not a long time, and Lexa must still prove her strength and commitment to leading the coalition every day. The frivolity of a public wedding ceremony would make her seem weak.

"I wouldn't ask you for that," Clarke says softly. She didn't mean to bring up marriage so specifically. She only wanted to know if Lexa wanted something to change between them. "I just wish you could feel the joy your people feel because of the work you've done, see the hope people have now that they're not fighting just to survive. You deserve to feel it too."

Clarke sees the break, the snapping of the final twig holding Lexa up in anger. Lexa's shoulders curl and her hands look impossibly heavy in her lap. All her strength has been shot out of her, hurtled across the canyon before them.

Her hands lay idle and open, palms up. There is no dagger, no arrow, no sword to grip. They look helpless. Lexa starts to shake, and Clarke doesn't know what to do.

Lexa exhales, a slow, deflating breath.

"I don't know who I am when I'm not fighting."

Clarke feels her heart break with love for Lexa, as it has so many times since they met.

She understands now.

She takes Lexa's hand, gently as to not spook her. She traces the outline of Lexa's fingers, dipping between them, turning her head to study the lines as though for a drawing. She feels where callouses used to be, where cuts have healed. Lexa's hands are smooth now.

Clarke wonders what it must be like, to know only war for decades. She can understand how the last eighteen months would be uneasy for Lexa. It must be as strange to her as all of earth once was to Clarke.

Clarke knows Lexa has never thought about living long enough to make plans past the next battle.

"It must be frightening to have no battles to fight."

Lexa quivers and Clarke knows she's found the right bowstring.

She takes Lexa's other hand, holding her as gently as she can.

"You are many things when you're not fighting," she says, swallowing down any tears that might prevent her from holding Lexa up. "You are a leader. A teacher to the natblidas. A symbol of strength and hope among your people. One of the first things I heard about you was that were a visionary. And you are, above all else."

Lexa doesn't meet her gaze as tears build against her lashes.

"You are still a warrior, love. You are as strong and brave as ever. It takes true courage to bring peace."

Lexa looks up at her now, teary and frightened. "What do I do with it?"

Clarke thought her heart was already broken, but it breaks again. She has never met a more loving and selfless person.

"You _live_ it," Clarke whispers. "You eat the fruit of the garden you planted and never thought you'd harvest."

A tear falls down Lexa's cheek and she looks down at their hands, now clasped, not unlike the clasp of Lincoln and Octavia's hands an hour before.

Lexa swallows, eyes darting about for a moment before coming to rest on their hands again.

"There is no precedent for a commander taking vows."

Clarke makes her voice as soft as she can without whispering.

"There is no precedent for many of the things you've done. Your legacy – you've already won, Lexa. You've done what no commander has been able to do. You saw a vision of peace and you brought it forth, and you will continue to build on it. Your legacy – beyond peace – will be prosperity. _Joy_. People will marry and have children and raise them in safety and love because _you_ allowed them to."

Lexa swallows, looking up at Clarke with anxious, uncertain eyes.

"Is that something you want too?"

Clarke feels something flutter in her stomach. She hadn't realized her answer until this moment.

"Someday," she whispers. She holds Lexa's hands steady, trying soothe whatever anxiety her admission brings forth. "We have time."

Lexa quivers but doesn't pull away. She swallows, looking down at their hands.

"I suppose I ought to afford you the same benefits of peace as the rest of my people."

Clarke searches her face, hoping to see some flicker of happiness.

"Allow them for _yourself_ ," she whispers. "You of all people are deserving."

Lexa swallows again, giving a gentle, relieved nod.

It's enough.

They sit for a long while, staring across the canyon as the sun arcs lower, painting the sky vibrant purples and pinks and golds. Eventually they ride back to the clearing, wishing Octavia and Lincoln well before returning to Polis tower. They make love quietly under the sheets, and it's as it used to be. Lexa is as soft and tender to the touch as she's ever been.

* * *

They marry a year later. The ceremony is simple and quiet, attended only by Abby, Marcus, Indra, and Lexa's second. Lexa trembles a bit as she recites her vows, hand gripping Clarke's as the cloth is folded over their handclasp, binding them together.

It's a formality, Clarke knows. The promise they make to each other has been made countless times, against skin, against sheets, in the touch of a hand to waist, in a deep, knowing look.

She is bound to Lexa in this life and the next, and the ones after that. Their spirits are united, and nothing – not war, not peace, not death – can tear them apart.

They know peace. It prevails for many years. Crops flourish, alliances solidify, and children grow.

It is every bit as life-giving as they hoped.


End file.
